


The Bandit and the Maiden

by MDidact (SaigonTimeMD)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Chains, Consensual Non-Consent, F/M, Light Bondage, Rape Fantasy, Roleplay, Sexual Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 21:52:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8506843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaigonTimeMD/pseuds/MDidact
Summary: Zarya and Roadhog spice things up with a little historical roleplay.





	

                Aleksandra Zaryanova inhaled the borscht’s sour aroma with a smile, and gave the pot another stir. The freezing Siberian wind battered the thick wooden walls of the candlelit cottage like a starving beast, desperate to gain entrance and devour the warmth within, but the towering young woman was more concerned with the evening’s preparations than the weather. It had been some time since she’d last made borscht, and her plain, blue-and-white sarafan dress was stained with broth, vinegar, and errant vegetable parts; a few pieces of dill had even made their way into her short, pink hair. Still, any food worth eating was worth the mess in the making, and Aleksandra’s borscht was most definitely worth eating – at least it had been in the past. Time would tell if she remembered the recipe right.

                Stepping away from the pot to let the soup cook, she took a satisfied look around the cottage. Sturdy wooden chairs and tables, a stone fireplace, and handstitched curtains framing frosted-over windows. The snow flew past the glass in blinding flurries, and she willingly suppressed the instinctive worry that always came over her in the winter, although her muscular hands began to absentmindedly wring. The village where Oleg worked seemed so far away this time of year, but even so he would be home any second and—

                With a crash, the cottage door flew open and a monstrous mountain of a man lurched inside, making a noise that might’ve been a roar, a cough, or both. A hand, bigger than her head and covered in golden rings, slammed the door shut, choking off the wintery blast. The titanic figure turned back to her with a grunt, and Aleksandra’s hands flew to her mouth to silence a gasp. He towered over her by at least a head, with shoulders as broad as a cannon, and a rotund belly with a strange, flaming pig tattoo that jutted crudely out from his thick, black fur coat. His massive hands were more like an animal’s paw than any human feature, and his nails were pitch black. Above those broad shoulders was a nightmare: the ruffian wore a leather mask covered in stitches and an ushanka-hat atop it that, she could see, had more than a few bullet-holes in it. Most terrifying of all were the well-used scrapgun and rusted butcher’s chain-hook that hung from his belt, covered in suspicious red stains.

                “Bozhe moi, a bandit!” she cried, the panic sounding alien in her husky throat.

                “Bozhe moi, a beautiful girl,” the masked bandit replied, his sepulchral voice a clumsy mockery of her native language.

                She made for the axe by the fireplace, but the butcher’s hook was around her even as she turned, and, with a terrible guffaw, the ruffian pulled her to him from across the room in the space of a breath. She coughed as the first whiff of his scent assaulted her: dirt, blood, sweat, petrol – the stench of a man who worked beyond the law and loved it. She vainly pushed against his chest but she could gain no leverage as the hook and chain constricted her arms, and – shock upon shock – she realized the robber wasn’t even wearing a shirt! Her monstrous captor chuckled cruelly, and cupped her chin between his thumb and forefinger; powerless to stop him, she could only move her head where he directed it as he looked her over like a piece of livestock.

                “Who are you?” she asked through pinched cheeks.

                “They call me Roadhog, baby,” the brute replied, and sniffed crudely at her neck. Her emerald eyes desperately searched his face for any sign of humanity, but only cold, black lenses stared back from the grotesque leather visage. “I see the stories are true,” he growled, and Aleksandra could only guess at the meaning of his words. Just as suddenly as he had hooked her, the ruffian sent her spinning back across the room as the chain uncoiled, leaving her shaking and slightly dizzy on her feet. She had never before met a man who dared to handle her so roughly, let alone was able to, and it both frightened and exhilarated her. The hook returned to the monster’s hand with an unnatural elasticity, and he cracked his neck to the side.

                “P-please, we have only a few rubles saved,” Aleksandra pleaded, taking the moneybox off the kitchen shelf and holding it out to him. “Just take it and leave; there’s nothing else for you here!”

                “I’m here for only one thing,” Roadhog growled as he advanced on her with thunderous footsteps, and he smacked the iron moneybox out of her shaking hands like it was a child’s toy. It flew across the room and clanged loudly off the soup pot. The sound and the smell of the borscht – it really _was_ starting to smell fantastic – seized his attention, and Aleksandra, taking advantage, threw a right hook that would’ve caved a man’s skull in any other situation. Roadhog caught it in his own hand without looking back. “Well, maybe two things,” he cackled, nodding to the soup, not missing a beat, “but mostly just one.”

                Putting his other, massive hand around her throat, the titanic robber slammed Aleksandra back against the cottage wall, and she thought she heard the timbers crack.

                “And what is that?” she choked out, struggling against his iron grip.

                “The jewel of the village, of course,” he answered, letting go of her neck and tracing his huge fingers down her arm with unexpected tenderness. “Strong as a bear, tall as a Siberian pine – and twice as beautiful as a camomile.”

                “Honeyed words from a masked brute,” Aleksandra spit out, but she could not deny the flash of heat she felt, nor the growing redness in her cheeks. His sudden eloquence had caught her off guard, but all romantic feelings were put on hold as he once again brandished the rusted hook, close enough to her face to read the letters ‘H O G’ emblazoned on the end, gleaming in the firelight.

                “I got more than words to offer,” he growled, and hooked the tip around the bottom of her sarafan dress. “Wager you do too.”

                Before she could think up a defiant response, the hook sliced up the front of her dress, splitting it straight through the middle, and the two halves fell softly to her sides, exposing the only garments she wore beneath: a lacy white bra, panty, and garter belt set. Aleksandra gasped, and her ample breasts rose with the intake of breath, unintentionally accentuating her now-bare body. Roadhog whistled through his mask.

                “Little skimpy for this time of year, don’t you think?” he asked, dragging the flat side of his hook across her sculpted abs. The metal was cold against her newly-exposed skin, and it sent shivers through her body, but she was already sweating in spite of it – from fear or desire, she could not tell.

                “I…I am a dutiful wife,” she replied, lowering her eyes and turning away, desperate to escape his petrol-laden breath, a wave of shame flushing her face and chest pink. Roadhog dropped the hook around her thick waist and pulled her against him, skin to skin, and she gasped as his manhood, already bulging against his filthy brown pants, pressed against her panties.

                “I’ll make you a dutiful whore!” he roared gleefully, tossing her over his shoulder like a sack of turnips and turning towards the stairs to the bedroom. She whined and protested and kicked her legs and beat upon his back with fists that could shatter trees, but a loud, sharp smack across her round bottom quickly deterred any further struggle. He gave her a few more spanks for good measure, leaving bright red handprints on her cheeks, and each one elicited a high-pitched squeal that surprised Aleksandra more than her captor, who chuckled cruelly with every slap.

                Alas, the cottage stairs had not been built for someone the size of the ruffian, let alone someone his size carrying someone Aleksandra’s size, and she winced in pain as the back of her head connected with the second floor landing.

                “You alright?” he asked, his grinding-concrete voice suddenly filled with concern.

                “I am fine…monster!” she yelled, and elbowed him in the back of the neck. He snarled in response and continued up the stairs, albeit more carefully.

                After the ascent was completed, he threw Aleksandra from his shoulder to the bed, which creaked noisily under her weight. Next, he tossed his fur coat aside, exposing his massive, borderline inhuman muscles, but kept the hat and mask on. She propped herself up on her elbows and glared at him defiantly, although she could not help biting her lip as she drank in the sight of the sheer man-mountain that stood at the end of the bed.

                “Do whatever you want to me,” she hissed, “I will not give you any satisfaction! I am a daughter of Russia, and a faithful wife, and—“

                “Whatever I want, huh?” Roadhog asked, gently patting the hook in his hand.

                “Oh…um…uh, well, that is to say…” she began, but the ruffian sprang into action before she could finish the sentence she knew damn well had no logical conclusion.

                A few seconds later, her arms were bound above her head, literally chained to the headboard, letting her only kick her feet and wiggle her body – which she did, though rather futilely. Her struggles ceased when she saw him undo his belt and drop his trousers to the ground. Muscular, magnificent, and over eleven inches long, Roadhog’s cock flopped free and pointed slightly up like a shashka. Her green eyes widened with desire, but her brawny legs shot closed as he advanced.

                “S-surely you cannot expect me to take all of… _that_ with no, um, preparation?” she protested, her husky voice quavering slightly as he climbed onto the bed. The wood groaned under his weight.

                “I s’pose not,” he grumbled, sounding just a little disappointed. He slowly guided one of his massive hands up the length of her leg, from her foot to her thigh, where she parted her legs just enough to allow him entry. She refused to look at his mask, focusing instead on his tree-trunk arm, but she felt his gaze upon hers, burning embers of brute desire staring bloodshot through darkened lenses. With surprising gentleness, he pulled her lacy white panty to the side and began to rub his middle finger against her entrance, taking special care to massage the love-button at its peak. Her face flushed as she realized just how wet she had become, and a tiny, soundless moan escaped her lips – though not the ruffian’s notice, and he chuckled as her body betrayed her. Her eyes flashed with anger and she glowered at him.

                “Do not taunt me, dog,” she hissed, trying to disguise the growing need in her voice with a threatening tone. “You must have done this to a hundred girls.”

                “None half as beautiful,” he replied, and she could hear the smile in his rumbling words. If not for the mask – and the chains around her arms – she would’ve kissed him then and there. Seeing her expression soften, Roadhog slipped his slickened finger inside of her, and she groaned, straining against the chains as a wave of intense pleasure washed over her body, momentarily alleviating the desirous ache that had taken hold of her muscles. His hands were scarred and calloused, and his fingers thick and roughened by a lifetime of struggle, but such textures felt amazing when applied to the right places – and he definitely knew the right places. She turned her head and bit her arm to stifle the squeal of pleasure, but she could no more disguise the sound than the grin on her face as he began to not-so-roughly stretch her out, preparing her for the monstrous cock that bobbed in the air expectantly. He moved his finger from side to side, up and down, getting her used to the penetration, all while rubbing his palm against her clit, and she could not help squirming on his hand, desire finally overriding disdain for the hulking brute. “Some faithful wife you are,” he grunted.

                “I could break your neck if I wanted to,” she moaned, making the most cursory of efforts against the chains that bound her arms.

                “But you don’t want to, do you?” he asked, and slowly, agonizingly, withdrew his finger. She whined without meaning to, and he chuckled. “Think you’re ready, now?”

                “I think,” she began, “you are far too gentle for a bandit. Perhaps there is some delicate maiden down the road you will find more suitable.” Roadhog laughed aloud, a horrible, roaring expulsion of mirth, and quickly threw her legs open, positioning himself at her entrance. She grinned wickedly, but did not resist.

                Bracing himself on the headboard, he pushed into her with a growl, thrusting in nearly a third of his full length in one go. She winced, and her muscles tightened visibly, but she bit her lip until it hurt. He quickly withdrew and pushed in again, driving further inside, and she cried out; it hurt, but it hurt so well. One more quick cycle and he began to work into a fast rhythm, slamming a little bit more into her every time.

                “This what you wanted, you little slager?” he bellowed.

                “No! No! My husband…never so rough,” she protested, but it was all she could do to maintain coherency as he pounded her mercilessly, fucking her raw, every thrust sending sparks of pleasure through her body as it writhed beneath his.

                “Forget about him,” Roadhog laughed, “you’re mine now!”

                “No, please!”

                “Oh yeah, you’re mine! Gonna take you back to my camp! You _and_ the soup!”

                “Not my soup! Not your camp!”

                “Gonna take you back to camp and make you my personal fucktoy!”

                “No, not that! Please!”

                “Yeah, gonna fuck you any time I want! Gonna fuck you ‘till you beg for it!”

                “Anything but that!”

                “And on the weekends, I’ll pass you around to the other boys at the camp and we’ll—“

                He stopped as he saw Aleksandra’s expression turn from a delirious mixture of panic and desire to an expression of disappointed confusion. The cottage bedroom seemed to grow unusually cold.

                “Too much?” he asked.

                “Too much,” she said.

                “Sorry.”

                She kicked him in the side, hard, and he winced.

                “Don’t apologize, you pig!”

                “Fine!” he roared, flipping her over on her side and pistoning into her even harder, “I’ll keep you all to myself, then!” He lifted one of her legs over his shoulder and started thumbing her clit; her body tightened around his thrusting cock, and knew he was back on track.

                “That would be torture!” she squealed, trying to sound like she was still protesting even though she could feel the quickly approaching climax. “Please, anything but staying with you!”

                “Oh no, you’re all mine now! You’re gonna suck my cock every morning for breakfast and suck it again for dinner every night!”

                “No, please, I have to eat!”

                “No food! Just my dick! Just my cum fillin’ that empty belly of yours!”

                Aleksandra couldn’t suppress a giggle. The bandit brought his hand across her bottom with such force that a bright red welt sprang up almost immediately.

                “Stop laughing! I’m trying!”

                He reached back into a sack on his belt and brought out a yellow canister, stuck it in the ventilator of his mask, and inhaled. His pace suddenly doubled, and Aleksandra saw stars. Letting go of the headboard, he leaned down onto her and went to work, holding her in place with his weight as he jackhammered his hips against her jiggling rear. How much of his full length was actually going inside, she couldn’t have begun to guess, but it felt like getting fucked by a machine; a huge, burly, muscular machine that stunk of petrol and had a cock as big as her arm. His stench was overwhelming, intoxicating, and her voice rose in a long moan as she teetered on the edge.

                “You got a name, girl? Gotta know what to put on your collar!”

                “Never…never tell you,” she gasped, and shook her head, trying to hide the smile on her blushing face. “Such a beast!”

                “You gonna cum, huh?” he growled through ragged breaths. “You cum and your mine! Mine!”

                She whined and protested, but none of it coherently. He flipped her back over onto her back and started rapidly rubbing her clit even as he slowed his hips down to a glacial pace, taking her slow and deep and hard every time. She moaned and jerked and twitched under him but couldn’t escape the wonderful sensations that threatened to overwhelm her completely. The wooden headboard burst into splinters as her straining arms ripped the chain through it, and she wrapped her still-bound wrists around the his neck, holding onto him as her toes began to freeze.

                “Da! Da!” she moaned, slipping back into her native tongue as her arms squeezed him harder, “Make me cum! Make me your little whore! I’m yours, I’m yours!”

                The first wave of orgasm rocked her body, and every toned muscle tightened to the point of over-straining; she bit his shoulder and screamed into his thick skin as her legs spasmed and hugged him for all the strength she could muster. Feeling her inner walls squeeze him tight, he came too, firing his balls into her again and again like a top-loaded scrapgun. The gush of hot wetness dragged her further down into ecstasy, and her body shuddered violently, all semblance of self-control gone.

                Then the bed collapsed.

                +++

                “You know, you did not even play with these. I was surprised,” Aleksandra said, pulling her frilly bra down and exposing her barbell nipple piercings. Roadhog, lying next to her, gave one of them a playful tweak.

                “Didn’t think nipple piercings were ‘historically accurate,’” he replied, brushing a sprig of dill out of her hair.

                “Yes, well,” she said, pressing his massive hand against the side of her head with her own hand, “neither is this, technically.” She pointed to her short, pink hair, and Roadhog shrugged. “It is actually quite liberating, not being in control, you know?”

                Roadhog grunted, and ran his finger across her forearm; there were still red marks where the chains had been wrapped tightly – maybe too tightly. She gently batted his hand away and pointed his face towards her own.

                “I’m fine, Roadie,” she said, sensing his concern. When your…well, whatever he was to her wore a mask all the time, you get very good at reading body language. “I liked it. A lot, actually.”

                She pushed his gask mask up and his ushanka fell off onto the floor, revealing both his moon-white hair and the bottom of his face, round with a strong chin, full lips, and just a hint of stubble. She leaned in and kissed him, short and sweet at first, but then she opened her mouth to lock lips, the air between them quickly growing hot and passionate. What was that she tasted on his tongue? Mint? He’d started brushing his teeth, it seemed. That was nice.

                As she cradled his face, Roadhog’s hands wrapped around her: one across her back, and the other cupping her rear, still slightly tender. He pulled her close, and the kiss became more insistent, needier. Her chest and face flushed, and Roadhog grunted as his cock began to stiffen once again.

                “Ready for round two?” she asked, planting little kisses around his chin.

                “Depends. Do I have to act like a bandit?” he said with a grin, and gave her rump a squeeze.

                “Mmmm…no, this will do fine,” she answered, and she brought one hand down to his manhood to guide him inside.

                “Zarya? Are you in here?” a soft voice from downstairs called. “Why is it snowing in the simulation room? What’s this cabin?”

                Aleksandra was so surprised that for a moment she was paralyzed, eyes wide mid-kiss.

                “Jamison and I were going to the new café downtown and I wanted to know if you wanted to come with us and the log said you were in here so…”

                “It’s Mei!” she hissed, and immediately began looking around for things to put on.

                “Crikey, it’s cold out there!” came a second voice from below. “What in the hell kind of a deal is this? Wait, what’s that smell?”

                “Shit,” Roadhog growled.

                “Ow! Ow! Soup’s hot! Tastes good but it’s hot! Too hot!”

                The two lovers heard the floorboards creak below, too close to the stairs.

                “Uh, we don’t want to interrupt anything, so maybe we will just go by ourselves, then…” Mei-ling called upstairs, unsure of what was going on, but pretty sure she shouldn’t be there.

                “Ugh, I don’t want to go back out into that—hold a tick, you smell that?”

                “Smell what? I-I think that we should go,” Mei said, walking towards the door.

                “Petrol! ‘Hog, you in here too?”

                They both heard the metallic peg-leg and boot combination coming up the stairs, but there was nothing to be done; Aleksandra had just enough time to cover her breasts with the blanket before Jamison Fawkes’ head flew up above the second floor landing, grinning like a demented prairie dog.

                “Hoo-ee, hubba hubba! What do we have here?” he crowed before whistling obscenely. “The bear and the ‘Hog, rootin' like a couple of--”

                “I’m going to kill you,” Roadhog stated calmly, and reached for his scrapgun.

                “Jamison, we should leave _now_!” Mei-ling protested, rising panic in her voice.

                “Nonsense! C’mere and have a look-see!” Jamison reached down and hauled Mei up by her hood, giving her as good a show as he’d gotten.

                “Zarya!” she gasped before quickly covering her eyes. “I am so sorry! Sorry!” She quickly peeked between her fingers, then apologized again.

                “I’m going to kill both of you,” Roadhog roared, looking for something to load into the scrapgun, which he remembered he’d kept empty for safety reasons.

                “Do not kill Mei, she is my friend,” Aleksandra asked, shaking her head and trying to stifle a laugh at the whole situation.

                “I’m only going to kill one of you, then.”

                “Whoop, time to leave! Ta-ta, lovebirds!” Jamison crowed, then grabbed Mei – who was still covering her eyes – and dragged her out of the cottage before the burly Australian could even make it to the stairs.

                “Well, it was not as if they did not know already,” Aleksandra sighed, tossing the blanket to the side. “After the closet…”

                “Guess so,” Roadhog grunted, although he still wasn’t quite ready to put down the scrapgun yet.

                “Come back to bed. You still have unfinished business with me,” she purred, and Roadhog’s mouth broke into a wide, gold-toothed smile. He tossed the weapon to the side, scooped the brawny Russian up, and placed her on top on the dressing table in one movement, stealing her breath in the process. He grabbed her lacy white bra and ripped it open, letting her pierced, DD-cup breasts flop free.

                “That was my favorite bra!” she exclaimed, as shocked as she was turned on.

                “I’ll steal you another one,” Roadhog said, ripping off her panties next and dropping them to the floor. “I’m a bandit. It’s what I do.”

                The cottage shook well into the artificial night.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Zarya and ‘Hog seem like a good fit for each other since they can bond over losing everything because Omnics and they both fall under the ‘Could easily murder just about the rest of the Overwatch team but don’t feel the need to flex about it’ column. To be honest I never even considered them together until I saw @orangekissess‘ 1-page comic with the two of them and then it was just like ‘Well, this is the only logical conclusion.’ I also think Mei and Junkrat are a pretty good pairing, and I like BFF-pairings, so here we are.


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